Modern Tribulations of the Duckweed Plant

In my ordeal I usually find myself a fleck on the surface of fluid space without care Of where I am bound, only that I break occasionally From feeling tethered to the parking meter of life, and am lifted By wind or wave or struggle, to be the awakened self Perilously suspended like a bright chandelier casting a tsunami of light Upon the world, peeling its lid off so I can see into the can holding the soup Of the spare, luminous and brief ordeal from which eventually we spill, Floating down stream, pressed like origami splotch on the surface of experience, Careless to change the journey's end.
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